


Saplings

by weeinterpreter



Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Angst, Army, Drama, Family, Family Bonding, Gen, Humor, Pre-Canon, Soldiers, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeinterpreter/pseuds/weeinterpreter
Summary: August 1988Alexandr Butler, the intended bodyguard for the next Fowl heir is dead, executed in Iran after a political coup. In a frantic attempt to keep up the family tradition, the 23-year old Lance Corporal Domovoi Butler gets disengaged from his service in Monte Carlo and reluctantly travels back to Dublin, Ireland to meet his future employers as well as his baby sister for the first time.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25
Collections: Artemis Fowl Big Bang 2021





	Saplings

**Author’s Note** : Hello, my beautiful readers. Welcome to this one-shot, written for the Big Bang. I was teamed up with the lovely [**Chars**](https://severearbiterninja.tumblr.com/), who agreed to draw an accompanying piece for this piece. It is freaking amazing and so is she! You can find her piece **[here](https://severearbiterninja.tumblr.com/post/643128788652310528/my-contribution-to-the-artemis-fowl-big-bang-2021). **

A quick note on some of the Russian words used as they won’t be translated:

 _Malchik –_ Boy

 _Brat –_ Brother

 _Yulchonok –_ A play on words. It’s a mix of _Yulia_ (the Russian version of Juliet) and _volchonok_ (little one, cub).

Enjoy!

Many thanks to the wonderful **iesnoth** for the beta. And one more thanks to my brother for the help with the Latin phrases. Turns out, studying Latin was not a complete waste of time. ;-)

 **Disclaimer** : Eoin Colfer owns all the characters from Artemis Fowl, I only own my imagination.

* * *

** Saplings **

August 1988, Monte Carlo, Monaco

One in three citizens in Monte Carlo was a millionaire, the other two pretended to be one. It was a world of glitz and glamour, blinding the outside world and asking the normal mortals to please stay out. Of course, telling somebody they can’t be part of the clique will make people want it even more.

Which was why Monaco had always attracted a certain kind of people to its shores. Mostly dreamers, choosing it for its allure of fame: actresses, trying to make their luck as the next Grace Kelly; race-car drivers, fantasising of becoming their generation’s Jackie Stewart; even the army was occasionally drawn to Monaco as a recuperation post.

As a result, four lance corporals had been sent there for a three-month-long recovery after foiling an assassination attempt on their superior, Général d’armée Durant, in Chad. Budget cuts usually meant only high-ranking officers could hope for a paid recuperation holiday. Luckily for the four lance corporals, Andersen, Butler, Commons and Wilke, someone in administration liked them well enough to pull some strings. And so, they all had been assigned to play bodyguard for Durant.

It was the easiest job in the world. Why? Because rigid Durant preferred to spend his time locked away in his luxurious Hermitage hotel room. Which left his bodyguards guarding his hotel door around the clock.

The soldiers had no idea who to thank, but they made sure to spend their time wisely. After five years serving in the army, it felt like winning a lottery jackpot. All four of them were in their mid- to late-twenties. They had money. Freedom. They were handsome, attracting men and women alike with their air of danger and mystery. And Butler, in his arrogant ignorance, had thought this life would never end. Boy, had he been wrong. 

“Lance Corporal Butler.” 

Général d’armée Durant’s voice brought him back to the present and the lavish hotel room. Butler tensed, trying not to crumple the letter in his hands, while the luxury of the hotel room blinked on relentlessly.

“I am sorry for your loss, Lance Corporal,” Durant repeated, tapping his fingers on the brocade armrest of his armchair.

“Thank you, sir,” Butler uttered without much enthusiasm.

Loss. He nearly scoffed. What loss? He couldn’t even conjure more than two blurry faces of some middle-aged people in front of his eyes. What eye colour did they have? Had his mother long or short hair?

The letter in his hand had told him more about his parents than he had known for the last 23 years of his life. He knew they had worked for a national secret service, somewhere. Butler had assumed that it was either the KGB or the USSS. Turned out, it had been Iran. His parents had lived in Tehran for the last four years, doing… something. The letter hadn’t gone into details. Only that they were framed for a botched coup. Imprisoned and unable to communicate with the family, it was already too late when the news reached the Butlers. On 6th August 1988, they were executed. Together with thousands of other political opponents in an attempt to purge the country of any critical voices.

Butler had felt more grief about the death of his comrades in Chad. He didn’t know why he should care about this news. 

“I have been informed that you will be dismissed with immediate effect.”

Butler’s hand curled around the letter, crumpling the paper. Ah yes, that’s why he cared. If his father hadn’t got himself killed, it would be his old man taking a flight to Dublin the next morning. Not him. It would have been his father stepping up to the family duty of bodyguard for the next Fowl heir. His father, who already got to live his life. Not him. 

The Général d’armée noticed his subordinate’s reaction, and his features softened slightly.

“You have shown excellent performance while on duty, Lance Corporal. Good team player. You will receive an honourable discharge.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Butler saluted, taking his leave. 

An hour later he was downing his second whiskey in _La Figaro,_ one of Monte Carlo’s most popular bars. It hadn’t been his choice. The music was too loud, the flashing lights too bright and the people too shrill for Butler’s liking. Today, he couldn’t care less. Lance Corporal Sid Commons, who loved to come here specifically because of those reasons, leaned heavily against the bar. He had stared darkly into the golden liquid in his glass, lost in thought.

“Listen, man,” Sid eventually said after he had ordered Butler another whiskey and had pulled him into a corner. The music was subdued here, reduced to its bass tones, making the worry more audible in Sid’s deep, velvety voice.

“I heard some rumours about the Fowls.”

Butler shrugged grimly. Who hadn’t? The Fowls were notorious all over the world. And not for their charitable work. Rumour had it that the current head of the family, Tadgh Fowl, had sent weapons up to Northern Ireland during the Troubles in the last ten years. To both sides.

“Can you not refuse?”

Butler shook his head. “No chance. It’s a family thing.”

A stupid family thing, which nobody had bothered to discuss with him.

“Balls,” Sid grunted in his broad Australian accent. “Just, you know. You are cool, okay? I wouldn’t want to fight next to anyone else.”

Clenching his teeth, Butler ignored the sting in his chest and forced a smile as if he wasn’t about to lose one of his oldest friends. Five years, he reminded himself. He had spent five years building a career in the army. Forming friendships. And because of the whole Iran debacle, he had to leave it all behind to serve a European crime family.

“Thank you, man. I appreciate it. If you are ever in trouble, let me know,” Butler said, exchanging a pound hug with his comrade.

“Same, brother. Same,” Sid muttered, downing his whiskey in one go to drain down the lump in his throat. He let his gaze wander back to the bar, catching the attention of two women in sparkling sequin dresses. Elbowing Butler, he nodded towards them. The women turned away, giggling. Sid and Butler exchanged knowing looks, before catching the brunette peeking over her shoulder. Back on target. 

“I bet you ten bucks they are some aspiring actresses,” Sid remarked with a grin, never taking his eyes away from the walking disco balls.

Butler snorted. “That’s a given.”

“The blonde one is Russian. The brunette… dunno. Spanish?”

“No way,” Butler said with a smirk. “Italian.”

“Dibs on Russia,” Sid said as they made their way to the bar, weaving their way around people. The music once again became louder, the bass vibrating in their chests.

When they reached the bar, Sid bowed before the two women, well-practised in the routine. The women giggled some more, their faces flushed from too many Grasshoppers.

“Ladies, sorry for being late. Have you been waiting long for us?”

* * *

Another ten hours later, Butler was standing in the office of Tadgh Fowl, four pairs of eyes looking him up and down. It was like a bizarre horse show, in which the judges inspected a prized horse, deciding if it would make the cut. 

Crossing his hands behind his back, Butler was the picture of professionalism. Truth be told, he still hadn’t quite stomached the reunion with his uncle at the airport earlier that day.

The older man had waited for him at the arrival hall, sticking out like a sore thumb in the busy throng of people. It wasn’t merely the Major’s height, which was enough to make people notice him. It was the sheer amount of muscles he couldn’t hide underneath his understated suit. He emitted an aura of pure testosterone and danger that made people stay well clear of him.

During the five flight hours, Butler had time to think of how to greet his uncle. Would he go for a hug? A handshake? What signal did he want to send out? Those were important things to consider. After all, it wasn’t simply an uncle meeting his nephew but also a superior meeting his subordinate. He would need to show respect, but also communicate he wasn’t the little boy the Major used to push around. In the end, he settled on a handshake. He stopped in front of the Major, his army-regulation duffel bag on his shoulder, his heels together, and stretched out a hand. 

Which his uncle ignored. The Major gripped his shoulder, regarding the young man in his uniform for a long minute.

“ _Malchik_ ,” he finally said. It was both intimate and distant at the same time and Butler got the feeling, he had failed to establish his desired position. 

He wondered if his uncle saw his youngest brother in him. Did his father have the same ash blonde hair? The same straight nose? The same way of talking? Instead of asking, though, the drive to Fowl Manor passed in silence, save for some half-hearted small talk. After a while, Butler had given up and had simply stared at the rain pelting against the windscreen.

And now here they were, the grey summer light illuminating the dark green carpet. Tadgh Fowl sat behind a big mahogany desk, regarding him with a cold stare. He wasn’t very imposing. An elderly man, not a single hair on his head nor chin, he looked like your typical pensioner. Of course, not many pensioners could afford a bespoke suit. Even less could decide your fate with the snap of their fingers.

Butler threw a glance to the window where Tadgh’s son, Artemis Fowl, stood. He knew he was only a few years younger than the Irish heir, but they couldn’t have been more different.

The gelled back hair, his demonstrative disinterest, even the way he had pushed his hands into his suit pants painted a very clear picture. Artemis Fowl’s birthright gave him the ability to bend the world to his wishes. What those wishes were, Butler shuddered to think.

It couldn’t have been a more contrasting picture, with Butler and both his uncles on the other side of the room. The Captain had been Tadgh Fowl’s bodyguard for the last 30 years, and it showed. His crooked nose and the deep scar running from his temple down his cheek were obvious proofs of the countless murder attempts on the Fowl’s life.

The Major was a few years younger than the Captain, but in comparison, he could have been the winner of a beauty pageant. As soon as Artemis took on his father’s role, however, he’d get there too. As would Butler one day.

Finally, Tadgh Fowl leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin.

“He is very young. 22?” he asked, unconvinced.

“23, sir,” the Captain said with his stern voice. “He has been stationed in Russia, Kenya, Chad, and Colombia. He graduated from the Academy at the age of 18. He’s ready.”

Tadgh grunted. “Shame about his father. Nothing to be done about it. How are we going to call him? We got the Major and you, Captain. But, in all fairness, _Lance_ _Corporal,_ is a bit of a mouthful. I am sure you army people put more importance on all these titles. I don’t. Anything shorter?” 

Butler clenched his jaw so hard a muscle started twitching, but he kept staring straight ahead. The Captain shrugged. 

“It’s just a title. I am sure Butler will suffice, sir,” he decided. He turned to his brother. “You’ll do the induction, _brat?_ ” 

The Major nodded, motioning Butler to follow him. Quietly they crossed a long corridor filled with portraits of Fowl members. It took Butler a second to see they all shared the same nose as well as that ironic smile. It was exceptional.

The Major pushed open the door to the security office. A young security guard was sitting at a desk in front of a wall of monitors, streaming every corner of the manor.

“Thanks, Eoin, you can take a break,” the Major told the slim man. When he’d left, the Major pulled several folders from a filing cabinet.

“This one includes a list of all employees and their details. Make yourself familiar with them, you need to know who is living at the Manor and who isn’t,” he said, handing him a blue folder.

Butler opened it, scanning the names and attached photos. He nodded curtly. The Major continued with a red folder. 

“These are the schedules of the household. The Fowls’ agendas are on top, followed by kitchen, gym, cleaning, maintenance work, etcetera. Mrs Fowl is not due for another two months. Until she gives birth, you will join the other security guards, shadowing them during their work and getting familiar with our protocols. You can use your free time as you please, but I warn you, free time is scarce. Any questions?”

Before Butler could answer, there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” the Major called out.

Turning to the newcomers, Butler inclined his head towards a woman with curly hair. Probably one of the maids at the Manor, he thought as she averted her eyes. She was holding the hand of a young girl, her blonde hair braided into pigtails.

“Thank you, Claire. _Butler,_ Claire was kind enough to agree to also look after Juliet until Mrs Fowl’s son is born,” the Major said. Butler frowned. Why would she take care of – 

He glanced at the child’s blue eyes and froze. No one but a Butler could have such strikingly dark blue eyes.

“Who is that?” Butler asked hoarsely.

“Juliet. Your sister,” the Major said, brushing past him and crouching down. Even crouching, he still towered over the tiny girl.

“ _Yulchonok,_ ” he said in a tone Butler had never heard his uncle use before. Was he being… tender? “Remember about the visitor I told you about?”

The child bobbed her head up and down energetically, her eyes lighting up. “Mama and Dada?”

The Major was silent, his face unreadable. Then he shook his head. 

“No, not them. But your brother is here,” he told her and pointed to the gawking Butler. Juliet screwed up her nose before turning to her uncle. 

“He looks funny.”

Chuckling, the Major patted her head.

“I agree. Do you think you could play a bit with him after lunch?”

Juliet gave Butler another critical look before shaking her head and grabbing one of the Major’s big hands with both her toy-like ones. 

“No, _you_ play with me.”

“I can’t, _Yulchonok._ I have to work. Maybe later.”

Sighing like the weight of the world lay on her shoulders, she dropped his hand and turned to Claire. “Maybe you play with me?”

Claire smiled and nodded. “Of course, Juliet. After lunch.”

“Now. We play now,” Juliet protested as Claire hoisted her up in her arms at a sign from the Major. Butler could still hear the youthful squeals after the door closed behind them. The Major moved to sit in one of the swivel chairs before addressing his nephew’s baffled expression.

“Alexandr organised her escape from Tehran about a month ago,” he said. “Anastasia got her out of the city and smuggled her onto a plane to Dublin.”

“But why did you bring her here? Wouldn’t she be better off at the family estate?” Butler asked, still nonplussed.

That was standard procedure, after all. Until the age of ten, every Butler was raised and trained at the Butler Estate, located on the outskirts of the Russian city of Yaroslavl. His parents keeping Juliet for such a long time was unheard of. As was the fact that she was here at Fowl Manor.

Butler watched the Major lean back and rub his thumb against the skin of his fist in an absentminded gesture.

“There are a few tendencies your uncle and I have noticed in our correspondences lately which–,“ he interrupted himself to sit straighter in his chair.

“Juliet is the last direct relative you have. She is your only sister, _malchik._ ”

Butler narrowed his eyes at the address but kept quiet.

“I have never met her before,” he said coolly.

“You will have time to do that now. Let’s go over a few more house rules. I understand you have spent the last few years in the army, but this employment will be different. You might find this family’s business questionable, but it doesn’t allow you to _ever_ question your employers.”

“I _have_ been to the Academy, uncle,” Butler said, trying not to sound superior. The Major wouldn’t have any of it.

“Well, if you already know everything–“

“Do you?” Butler asked suddenly, shocking himself by his boldness.

The Major lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Do I what?”

“Find the business questionable?” 

His uncle had been a major, after all. He had served in the army for over ten years, he had commanded thousands of soldiers during his active time. Surely, he would have some thoughts about the family.

Sighing, the Major’s face relaxed. Butler half-expected his uncle to jump up from his seat and kick him in the head for the question. He didn’t.

“I know what you think, _malchik_. The world is unfair and you are suffering like nobody else ever did. You are angry, yes?”

Butler tried a cautious nod.

“As you should be. I’ve read your records. Your Russia mission in particular was outstanding. You could have made it to Army Sergeant Major.”

The unexpected praise made Butler raise his eyebrows by a fraction before he managed to get his features under control again. 

“Instead, you’ll have to step in for your late father. It’s not fair, no. But you’ll still do it. Why?”

“Because I am a Butler,” Butler said quietly, his shoulders dropping in defeat.

“Exactly. So, let me make one thing clear. I am not expecting you to throw your standards out of the window, but I will not permit you to disrespect our family motto.”

 _Servire et tueri cum humilitate._ Serve and protect with humility. That’s what they had done for centuries. That’s what they would do for the next centuries. Butler stared down at his feet. 

“Understood.”

“Good, now get ready for lunch. The kitchen is on the ground floor in the East Wing. We’ll finish this later.” He turned to the security cameras, the conversation over.

The thought of food reminded Butler that he had eaten nothing since his meagre in-flight meal. He quickly descended the gaudy stairs and found the kitchen after a short search. It was the size of a big restaurant kitchen, with long, spacious countertops and the newest appliances. Butler noticed most of the cooks worked at the far end of the kitchen. They were preparing lunch for the Fowls and had sent dishes up to the dining hall.

Butler turned to a quiet corner where Claire stood in front of Juliet, who had been strapped into a high chair. Clearing his throat, he stepped closer. Claire smiled at him, blowing a strand of hair out of her face and lowering the plate with food she held.

“Survived the induction?”

Butler made a non-committal sound, leaning against a counter.

“I still need to read through all of this,” he held up his folders. Changing the subject, he pointed with his thumb to the cooks. “How is lunch organised?”

Claire followed his gaze.

“The cooks prepare lunch and dinner for the staff. For breakfast, you’ll fend for yourself. You are free to eat whatever is in the staff fridge. Unfortunately, nobody will skin your grapefruit slices. Only Artemis gets that service,” she said conspiratorially. 

“You need to get on Kinga’s good side. She is making the best omelettes in the world. But she’ll only make them for the select few who ask her very nicely.”

Butler listened attentively, nodding. “Have you been working long here?”

“Oh, only a few months really,” she said, blushing. She was cute. Off-limits too, Butler reminded himself. No flings at work. He didn’t even need to check for that clause in the Major’s folders. He bet a tenner it was marked in red somewhere under “S”.

In the meantime, Juliet, who hadn’t been coaxed to eat anything, patted the tray to get Claire’s attention. Turning to the girl, Claire went back to sweet-talking her into trying the broccoli. Juliet shook her head with a gleeful smirk.

Frowning, Butler put his folders on the counter and crossed his arms.

“Does she do that a lot?”

“Juliet is a nightmare to feed. It takes hours to get her to eat _anything._ Juliet, it’s a tree! Will you not try it?”

Juliet kept shaking her head and pressed her lips together when Claire tried to push the broccoli into her mouth. This continued for several minutes until the Major strode into the kitchen.

“Claire, you are the one I’m looking for. Could you do me a favour and check on Mrs Fowl? She is very pale.”

Claire was about to tell him Juliet hadn’t been fed yet, but the Major jerked his chin towards Butler.

“I’m sure Butler can feed Juliet.”

Bastard. He knew exactly what his uncle had brewed up, and he didn’t even have the grace to look apologetic about it. Knowing that protesting would be futile, Butler lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. He waited until his uncle and Claire left the kitchen before staring the tiny girl down. Juliet stared right back, not intimidated in the slightest.

“Right,” Butler started. “We can do this the easy way or we’ll do it the hard way. Your call.”

Juliet turned up her nose. “Maybe I don’t like it.”

“That’s not a choice. You’ll eat this food.”

“Maybe I don’t _like_ it,” Juliet repeated stubbornly.

Gritting his teeth, Butler shrugged. “Fine. Maybe _, I’ll_ eat it,” he said and lifted the plate away from her tray.

Butler thought he had cracked her childish defiance when Juliet’s eyes went wide. He had been wrong. In a matter of seconds, she turned from a three-year-old toddler into a wailing Banshee, big tears rolling down her cheeks.

He didn’t think such a small person could make such earth-shattering noises. But, even worse, he had no idea how to turn it off. It terrified him more than an army of heavily armed soldiers. He dropped the plate back on her tray with a clatter, but the wailing wouldn’t stop.

“I am not eating your food. Will you stop crying?” he implored exasperatedly. Unimpressed by his actions, Juliet kept crying as if she was being tortured and his brain threatened to shut down at the unreal pitch drilling into his head.

The Major would kill him, Butler thought, shooting a panicked look to the kitchen door. How wasn’t he already storming in, kicking his head in? The screams were probably travelling throughout the whole house.

Helplessly, Butler scanned his surroundings for anything to make the screaming stop and realised he was alone in the kitchen. When had everybody left? He closed his eyes and pressed his hands on his ears, but the howling still pierced through. In a desperate attempt to save his eardrums, he said the first words that came to mind.

“ _Tili tili bom_.”

He faintly remembered the words of an ancient Russian lullaby, although he couldn’t recall where on Earth he would have heard it before. How did it continue?

“ _Zakroy glaza skoreye. Kto-to khodit za oknom_ ,” he hesitantly continued, reciting the verse, noticing how the crying ebbed away. Juliet recognised the song. Or at least, she was listening and stopped the deafening screaming. Butler worked his way through another verse before he dared to stop. Taking a shaky breath, he regarded his sister with a wary look that she returned defiantly.

“Will you _please_ eat?” he said, ready to get on his knees if she wanted him to.

Juliet shook her head, red spots appearing on her round cheeks again. 

“Maybe I don’t like it.”

Butler was about to give up. He’d throw the food and tell everybody that Juliet had eaten. Who would find out? Then, on a whim, he asked, “What do you want to eat?”

Juliet thought about the question, turning her blue eyes towards the ceiling. Eventually, she pointed to the stove.

“We cook.”

Following her gaze, Butler raised an eyebrow.

“You want to cook?”

Juliet nodded. “Like Mama.”

“Okay,” Butler shrugged, happy with anything as long as she didn’t start crying again. Lifting her out of the high chair, he carried her at arm’s length to one stove. 

“What does Mama cook?”

She had no idea, Butler realised after about five minutes in which Juliet kept pointing at pots and vegetables and nodded at whatever he showed her. But, pretending to follow her recipe, he opened cupboards and found potatoes, onions, garlic and eggs.

He began frying the chopped up onions and potatoes, a recipe one of his German comrades had taught him in the middle of the Colombian Rainforest. It was the easiest recipe he knew, and wouldn’t get more than a sniff from the Fowls. Then again, so would the thought of sitting in the wilderness, squatting over a camping stove. 

Once the potatoes were cooked and sizzled, he cracked an egg open and added it to the pan. All the while Juliet watched critically, her lips pressed into a thin line. He scooped the steaming food onto the plate and prayed to whoever listened that this would work. Piercing a potato chunk with a fork, he held it out to her.

“Maybe it’s hot,” Juliet told him and pointed to the steam. Butler blew on it until the potato had cooled down. Obligingly, Juliet opened her mouth and began chewing the potato. She swallowed and opened her mouth again. Relief spread through Butler, his knees nearly giving out under him.

Beaming up at him, Juliet munched happily. Then she started giggling. Trying the food himself, Butler felt a mad laugh bubbling up in his chest. He chuckled.

“You are an annoying munchkin, you know that?”

Juliet laughed loudly. “You are funny!”

Butler snorted. It was _funny_ that his uncle thought he could trick him into bonding with his baby sister. As if she was an adequate consolidation prize for giving up his career. Old fool.

Deep down, he knew it would take years before he could bury the disappointment about his ended military career. But Butler was a soldier and would follow his orders, ignoring his own wishes until the day he was able to make peace with his fate.

* * *

The sorrow never went away, but it slowly wandered to the back of his mind, like the dull throb of a broken heart. Besides, between getting used to the new protocols, keeping his uncles content with his work, spending time with Juliet, and hitting the gym, there was no time for self-pity.

He didn’t notice how he developed a daily routine over the next three weeks until it was interrupted by an odd mystery. Odd, because he had his mother’s voice stuck in his head one day. His mother singing the same verse of that disturbing lullaby, to be precise. Which was impossible. He couldn’t remember her singing it. His first memory was how he fell down the narrow attic stairs in the family estate, breaking his arm and his cousin ordering him to stop crying like a baby. 

So, the song could not be from his mother. He must have picked it up somewhere else, and being around his uncles and Juliet made his brain concoct strange memories.

His dreams that night told a different story, haunting him with bizarre scenes from his childhood home and clouded figures surrounding him. 

_“Tili tili bom.”_

Butler jolted awake when his bedroom door opened. He held his breath, his heart beating hard against his ribcage as he blinked into the darkness. Were they under attack? No, there would have been an alarm. Claire? He didn’t think she’d be so bold.

Behind him, the mattress sank down as someone climbed into his bed. Turning around, Butler came nose to nose with Juliet.

“What are you doing here, munchkin?” he whispered, rubbing his chest as his heartbeat normalised.

She grinned at him and reached for his blanket. “Maybe I sleep here?”

“Absolutely not. Go back to your own bed,” Butler said and rolled away from her, pulling his blanket closer around his shoulders.

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep in my bed.”

“But in my bed is a monster,” Juliet said.

“There are no monsters, Juliet.”

“Maybe I don’t like it,” Juliet announced, a dangerous frown forming on her forehead. Ah yes, her killer argument. He could argue with her for another hour, and she’d repeat that phrase over and over again. He huffed.

Butler ran his hand over his face, taking a deep breath. This was not going as planned. Time to change his tactics.

“Tell you what, you get into your bed and I’ll stand guard by your side to make sure no monster attacks you. And tomorrow I’ll teach you how to defend yourself against them.”

Juliet thought about it.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Can I climb on your back?”

Butler sighed. “Okay.”

“And you sing me the song?”

“ _Fine_ ,” he grumbled, picking her up and leaving his room, his feet sinking into the thick carpet of the hallway. Passing the long dark corridor to her bedroom, they walked through the Fowl gallery. He felt Juliet’s grip tighten around his shoulder. How had she even passed the corridor with generations of Fowls staring down at her? Quickening his steps, he jogged the last few feet to her room. They both heaved a collective sigh as Butler opened the door to Juliet’s bedroom. Watching her crawl under her blanket, he sank onto the soft carpet next to her bed and leaned against the wall.

“Now sleep.”

“Maybe you sing,” Juliet told him, pulling the blanket to her chin. Stubborn little munchkin.

Butler scratched his cheek and sighed. At least none of his comrades could see him now. So he sang. Off-key and with a raspy voice, but he worked his way through the verses of the lullaby. When he finally checked, Juliet was fast asleep. Butler observed her even breathing before he realised he was smiling.

He groaned, but couldn’t stop grinning. That sappy old fool of an uncle. That senile, sentimental old fool. The Devil take him. But he would never tell him, he thought stubbornly. He’d never hear the end of it otherwise.

Allowing himself to relax, he drifted back to sleep. Back home.

_“Domovoi.”_

“ _Ya doma,”_ he instinctively called out through the hallway. His mother was humming close by. Following the well-known sounds, he entered the kitchen and squinted when the sun blinded him. It was so bright he could only see his mother’s dark silhouette, her face shrouded in darkness. He smelled her homemade apple cake, though. The one she made when he came home. She cut him a slice and placed it in front of him, asking if his new job was really so bad. Domovoi rolled his eyes at her and spooned a huge bite into his mouth before smiling. He answered with a shake of his head.

* * *

The next morning, the sun broke through Ireland’s thick barricade of clouds for the first time in weeks. The glare reminded him of last night’s dream, and Butler squinted as he walked across the front lawn to Juliet.

He had never eaten his mother’s apple cakes. He wasn’t sure if his mother had even known how to cook in the first place. Still, it had felt… right. He watched Juliet in her sandbox, wondering if his parents had kept him around for longer too. Against protocol. Against the rules…?

Juliet got up from playing in the sand and held her little sand shovel like a sword when he approached.

“You don’t need that, munchkin. I’ll show you how to do a roundhouse kick.”

“What’s a rouse kick?” Juliet asked, jumping up and down.

“A _roundhouse_ kick,” he corrected her and showed her how to stand. “Let’s start with a good stance, otherwise your opponent will kick you over.”

“What’s an oppont?”

“The monster,” Butler saidafter a split second.

Following Butler’s example, Juliet stood, her legs standing wide. Raising an eyebrow, Butler nudged her leg with his foot and she fell on her bottom. Giggling, she got back up and resumed her stance. The next ten minutes, they practised her stance until she managed to not fall over. 

“Now, watch me,” he told her and showed her how to execute a full kick. Lifting his knee, he turned on his foot and kicked the air with his shin. Returning to his initial position, he turned to the girl. “You saw that?”

Juliet nodded and tried to copy him. She spun around in a circle, facing him once more. Suppressing a grin, Butler shook his head.

“You need to lift your foot off the ground.”

The toddler tried again. She jumped into the air, landed on the sand and then spun around. Chuckling, Butler crouched down and lifted his hand. 

“Can you try to hit my hand?”

Juliet gave him a high-five. Fighting hard not to burst out laughing, he rubbed his chin.

“That wasn’t too bad. Try it with your foot now.”

After Juliet placed her foot in his hand, he broke the kick down into single parts. He practised with Juliet every single change of stance until she managed to rotate her whole body without doing a pirouette. Then they added the kick.

On her first try, Juliet overturned and landed face down in the sand. Next, Butler sat down and held out his hand for her to kick at.

Juliet squinted her eyes, rocked onto the balls of her feet and rotated her body into the kick. Her foot connected with his hand. Stumbling back, she landed on her rump. Getting back up, she gave her brother a hopeful look. Butler clapped.

“Well done, munchkin,” he grinned and held out his hand for a high five. Juliet kicked at it instead. Unable to hold back his laughter, he burst out laughing and tickled her side. She squealed and slapped at his hand.

“Am I a bodyguard now?” she asked.

Butler chuckled. “Not yet.”

“But I will be?”

Of course, she would be. It was tradition. One day, she would protect a Fowl. With her life. Butler hesitated, his head frozen in a half-nod. How could he tell his sister that her whole life was already decided when he still hadn’t come to terms with it? Knowing that his parents must have gone directly against family tradition themselves? It was too late for him. But Juliet?

“You can be whatever you want to be, munchkin. Whatever makes you happy,” he told her, feeling oddly light-headed. His uncles would give him the stick if they ever found out.

“And I will support you.”

Juliet’s eyes widened. “Can I be Batman?”

“Well…,” Butler started, his excitement slightly dampened by the question. Then he sighed and nodded.

“Sure, if that makes you happy,” he told her.

“Butler! Butler!” a shrill voice interrupted the tranquil moment. Without thinking, Butler jumped to his feet. Pinning Juliet under his arm, he turned and dashed towards Claire, who came running over the lawn.

“Are we under attack?” he asked, scanning the surroundings for gunmen.

“No,” the girl gasped, holding her sides. “It’s Mrs Fowl. Her water broke.” 

Butler blinked confused. “Her _what_?”

“Her water broke! She is going to have the baby. We need to drive to the hospital.”

Paling, Butler forced himself to slow down to keep pace with the maid who kept babbling on and on.

“Millie has called Artemis, but we can’t reach him. The Major isn’t answering either. You need to drive her to the hospital. It’s the Sisters of Mercy maternity ward. I will come too. Millie can stay here with Juliet.”

Butler grunted, only now realising that Juliet had gone completely still in his arms, hiding her face at his shoulder.

“Juliet, I need to leave for a little while. Can you play with Millie until I come back?”

Juliet kept quiet, shaking her head. Butler gave Claire a nod, and she disappeared around a corner. Turning his attention to his baby sister, he held her at arm’s length until she looked at him.

“What’s the matter, munchkin?”

His sister didn’t smile but continued to pout and tried to hide her face behind her tiny hands. “Maybe you go away.”

“Of course not, why would you even think that?”

“Because Claire was angry. And you are angry. And Mama was angry and Dada. And then they went away,” she said with a shaky voice, tears filling her big eyes. This crying differed from what Butler had experienced a few weeks ago. This was a silent, hopeless kind of crying and it cut right to his heart.

“Don’t cry, munchkin,” he said. “Nobody is angry. Mrs Fowl is going to have a baby and I need to drive her to the hospital, but we will come back, okay?” 

She didn’t believe him, because she only cried harder, gasping for air between her quiet sobs. Butler started to sweat, racking his brain for what to tell her. Looking around, he walked up to an antique wooden sideboard in the hall and placed Juliet on top of it, so she was on his eye level.

“Juliet, look at me,” he ordered. She kept crying and hiccupping, but she looked at him now.

“Why were they angry?”

Stuttering, Juliet remembered, “M-mama was angry.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted my snake pullover. And Mama said no. And then the bad woman took me and Mama went away.”

That _bad_ woman Juliet was referring to must have been Anastasia. Their aunt. Of course, Juliet wouldn’t know that since Anastasia hardly ever left the Butler Estate in Russia. She would have undoubtedly scared Juliet with her eyes of steel. Heck, she even scared the Major, and they were married!

Butler closed his eyes for a moment before he made himself say, “That’s not why they went away, Juliet.”

“But why did they went away?” she asked miserably.

Butler sighed. “They… went to work.”

“When will they come back?” Juliet sniffed.

It would have been easy to use the same lie the Major had used. Consoling her with the promise they would come soon. Yet no words came out of his mouth. He couldn’t make himself say it. Rubbing a hand over his face, he finally looked his sister in the eye, hoping she would sense his sincerity.

“They won’t come back, Jules. The work is at a place far away, where we can’t go. Sorry,” he said softly, watching her react to the news. Juliet fixed her big blue eyes on him.

“Will you also go away too?”

“I’ll try not to,” he said truthfully. “But I promise I will do my best to stay around for a long time. Okay?”

The girl nodded, cheeks wet and reddened. Butler wiped the tears clumsily away, making Juliet giggle at the big hand in her face.

“Can you stay with Millie until I come back?” he asked, relieved that he had avoided a bigger crisis.

“Can I show Millie my _rouse_ kick?”

“Roundhouse kick, Jules. And no kicks in the house.”

“How about outside?” Juliet asked slyly, making him grin. He pulled her back into his arms and jogged to the entrance hall.

“How about you wait until the Major and Captain are back and then you can show them?”

Squealing in excitement, Juliet agreed to not traumatise Millie and to wait patiently for her big brother and uncle to return. Which left Butler with the next awkward situation: A woman in labour.

Mrs Fowl shuffled toward him, holding her enormous belly. Her usually silky smooth hair clung to her sweaty forehead, her face contorted in pain.

“Ma’am, do you want me to–“

“Is the car ready?” she hissed through her teeth, clawing a hand into Claire’s shoulder. Butler, glad for the easy way out, nodded and rushed to the garage. As he directed the car up the driveway of the estate, he wondered how the new Fowl baby would change his life. Well, he thought, with a sense of smugness, he made his baby sister stop crying. He could manage the baby of a crime lord. 

Boy, was he in for a surprise.

* * *

 **A/N** : The end or rather another beginning. The lullaby that Butler sings to Juliet is an old Russian lullaby simply called “Tili Tili Bom” (as far as I know). You can find it on YouTube if you’d like to listen to it. It’s pretty creepy, too, about a stranger walking past your window at night. Russian’s try to get their children to sleep by scaring them into staying in bed, haha.

Thank you all for sticking around and reading this piece. Now go [**here**](https://severearbiterninja.tumblr.com/post/643128788652310528/my-contribution-to-the-artemis-fowl-big-bang-2021)and check out **[Chars](https://severearbiterninja.tumblr.com/)** ’ art (if you haven't yet). And then you can come back and check out all the other wonderful stories and art pieces from all the other participants of the Big Bang 2021!

Take care and see you soon!


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